Note: This is a seattlepi.com reader blog. It is not written or edited by the P-I. The authors are solely responsible for content. E-mail us at newmedia@seattlepi.com if you consider a post inappropriate.

I Am A Kitchen Spaz

I’m a Kitchen Spaz on at least three out of four Wednesdays, the first Wednesday of the month being the exception. Tonight was not the first Wednesday of the month, so I was a Kitchen Spaz. I had predecided last week that I would make a Korean noodle dish called Chap Chae. Predecided isn’t actually a word, but you all knew what I meant didn’t you.

I soaked the noodles (bean thread, if you must know) in cold water for fifteen minutes. I sliced up shitake mushrooms, carrots, onions, and bamboo shoots. The recipe said, “slice thinly”. This requires spastication. If it just said, “slice”, I could be calm and collected, but the “thinly” part caused my dominant slicing hand to move up and down rapidly. Most of us have a Dominant Slicing Hand. It’s the one that, when employed, actually cuts the FOOD, rather than our digits. It bothers me that a portion of my fingers are referred to as “digits”. It’s not like you can insert them into algebraic equations.

After I soaked the noodles, I boiled them for exactly one minute in a very large pot. That’s what the recipe said. “ONE minute.” When the clock reached 59 seconds, I readied myself like the Spaz that I am. I had the colander in the sink to drain the noodles, and I pulled on the second oven mitt to grasp the hot pot handles. I began to tip the pot out.

What was truly frightening about the-pouring-out-of-the-hot-noodles-into-the-prepared-colander, was that the noodles had greatly expanded and had become an organic looking slithery, slimy head-like mass. When they unexpectedly shimmied out of the pot all on their own, I screamed. I thought it was the liquefied head of Medusa, snaky snakes and all. And then in my distress, I pretty much missed the colander. Thank goodness the drain was plugged. I recovered the Medusa noodles by the grab ‘n plop method (a technique never demonstrated in Williams & Sonoma cooking seminars) and rinsed them off in the colander, thinking it would be bad if any of the noodle heads had found their way down to the garbage disposal, past the small holes in the drain cover. It is a well-known fact that only people who have nothing to do in life, scrub and disinfect inside their garbage disposal on a weekly basis. The rest of us have at least one better hobby, so our garbage disposal innards are filthy, hence the name “garbage” disposal.

I looked at the glistening mass of noodles now in the colander, seriously wondering why I was making this recipe at all. I was disturbed. FOOD disturbed. Dwelling on beheaded mythical beings and their venomous tresses. In my misgivings, I was reminded of a time I cleaned shrimp (rip head off, rip legs off, rip exoskeleton off) and had a mini mental breakdown. It felt wrong to dismember the shrimp that day. It disgusted me. I stopped mid-head on one of the shrimp and walked away.

I needed a moment, so I walked away from the seething bowl of noodles, glad I had not been turned to stone, and heated up the wok with sesame oil. After the “slicing thinly” frenzy, I had marinated the vegetables in a soy/sugar/garlic/pepper sauce. I threw all this into the wok. Lightly laying things in a wok is boring. Must. Throw. Like Angry Cooks In Steaming Asian Restaurants.

Suddenly, I remembered why I was making this dish. That aroma! Shitake mushrooms cooking in sesame oil with a soy sauce based marinade. I love the smell of mushrooms sauteing, especially shitake. I felt myself calming down, leaving Kitchen Spaz and all the danger! behind.

I was experiencing Mushroomatherapy. That too is not (yet) a word.

When the vegetables were tender, I transferred them to a large blue and white ceramic bowl. I was over my mental attack about the noodles so I poured them into the bowl too.
Toss. Toss. Toss.
Get out the beary large pink rubber gloves because once again, I’m cooking Korean and I AM Korean. I must look the part. Smush around, toss some more. Add some rice wine for no reason at all, and it’s done.

Note: This is a seattlepi.com reader blog. It is not written or edited by the P-I. The authors are solely responsible for content. E-mail us at newmedia@seattlepi.com if you consider a post inappropriate.